Mysterious Girl
by Moonlight Silhouette
Summary: Jesse De Silva is the best PI at the O'Neil agency, so it's really no surprise he was chosen to investigate the latest case, Paul Slater. However, his partner turns out to be his greatest rival and now he has to choose between his job, or his heart ...
1. Prologue

**A.N - Another Moondancing Millie/Moonlight Silhouette tag-team guys. This is just to give you a feel for the story. The actual plot starts next chapter, which should be posted tomorrow.**

**Let us know what you think.**

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**Mysterious Girl**

**Occupation - (noun)** **1.** A job or profession. **2.** The action, state, or period of occupying or being occupied. **3.** A way of spending time.

**Prologue**

_From the outside, the Pepperoni Palace is detectable through the thick fall of smog caused from the thousands of automobiles that drive past it everyday. It goes with the rest of the buildings on Grey Wall Street – the interior smells of petrol, the curtains that sweep the grimy windows are dirty and moth-bitten, and the carpets are worn. A click signifies a key sliding into the lock, and the whiny door slides open._

_Susannah Simon coughs – once, twice. She's new to the dirty air; her lungs are virgin to the soiled environment. She flicks the light on – and the poor electric light takes a few seconds to fill the room. She dumps her bag on the nearest booth, and reaches for a pink and tea-stained apron. A red ribbon scoops her bleached-blonde hair into a ponytail._

_"Hey, goldilocks," her boss greets her, pushing the grimy door open again and letting in a cool breeze that ruffles their hair. Susannah shuts the cash register after making sure nothing is missing, and then wanders into the back kitchen. She doesn't answer him._

_She found the freezer the best place to think. Wrapping her arms around her ribcage, she pushes the door open and takes her daily place right at the back of the icy depths. Sliding down to the floor, she rests her head against the shelf behind her – holding Pepperoni Palace's best pizza bases – and thinks. Now would be a good time to enjoy a cigarette – if she smoked. She sighed. Life used to be so much simpler._

_"Hey goldilocks!" Mr Harrison Evans calls out to his employee again. "We're opening. You wanna keep your job or what?" Susannah's eyes snapped open again and she stood up abruptly. Her slender body slides past Mr Evans' round belly, and she begins stacking paper cups, refusing to make eye contact with her boss. He was the type of man whose personality was as bad as his odour._

_"Goldilocks." Susannah hated this nickname. In the three weeks she had worked at Pepperoni Palace, Mr Evans had invoked this term only a hundred times during each of her ten-hour shifts. Yet she managed to hold her tongue. "Am I ever gonna get a word out of you?" Susannah smiles, her eyes fixed on the paper cups. Heavy, limping footsteps tell her he had disappeared into the kitchen. She releases a slow exhalation, and then follows him stealthily._

_Her narrow eyes watch his sluggish movements, from the freezer to the vast fryer, where he tips the circles of frozen raw meat onto the greasy surface and watches them bubble. He begins to hum, and Susannah recognises the tune: Mission Impossible. She stifles a laugh. How appropriate._

_"Hey, Blondie, you gonna serve us any time today?" She ignores the catcall, and instead moves to the other side of the double-doors were her vision is better._

_Susannah's whole body tenses as she sees Mr Evans crumble white powder into the meat as it cooks. Drugs. Everything makes sense now. This is why she has been sent here._

_She exhales shortly, adrenaline pumping fiercely into her bloodstream. This was where it got interesting – this was the part she loved best. Making sure her beloved pointy-heeled boots were zipped up firmly, she pushes the double-doors to the kitchen open and marches straight up to her employer._

_"Goldilocks-" He begins, but he is interrupted. Susannah kicks the tray of drugged meat product from his hands and pushes him against the wall, a boot to his throat._

_"An illegal substances ring via a fast food industry," she says, watching him turning slowly pinker and pinker, and his whole body squirm as oxygen becomes an issue. "Very clever. Almost too clever."_

_"What the-" Mr Evans chokes, but Susannah presses her boot harder to his jugular._

_"Hush now," she whispers, and she whips her cell-phone from her trouser pockets. "Beaumont, I got him," she reports, and the buzz of the recipient is all Mr Evans can hear. She snaps her cell phone shut, and grins at him._

_"The cops are on their way," she says. "I'd begin thinking of excuses now, if I were you."_

_But Mr Evans isn't going to be caught that easily. He reaches for Susannah's skinny leg and forces her foot from his neck. Susannah spins around to replace it, but he has disappeared. The next thing she knows is an apron around her neck, and a nauseous feeling in her throat. She looks around urgently for something to save herself. The sizzling black saucepan is the first thing she sees._

_A quick hand grabs it and whirls out of the apron grip to deal Mr Evans a sharp blow to the head with the scalding hot saucepan. Her employer falls to the floor like he's made from gelatine, and Susannah throws the weapon to the side, satisfied. The pager in her pocket beeps, and she sighs, disappointed. She always has to leave before she can see the guy in handcuffs._

_"In case you haven't guessed," she says, untying her own pink apron and hanging it on the hook on her way out. "I quit."_

_She passes the now long queue of hungry customers, waggling her long fingers at them and smiling. They're going to be waiting a long, long time until they get served. She drapes her coat over her arm, and leaves the premises. Her long brown hair falls over her shoulder, and the blonde polyester wig lies forgotten in the cigarette ash outside the door._


	2. The O'Neil Agency

**A/N Thanks to those who reviewed the prologue! We're really grateful - so grateful in fact that we posted up the offical Chapter One just as we promised. So here it is - the next instillation from the Silly Milly Tagteam :-P**

**Mysterious Girl**

_**The O'Neil Agency**_

_**Spy [spahy (noun) - **_**a person employed by a government to obtain secret information or intelligence about another, usually hostile, country, esp. with reference to military or naval affairs.**

**(Verb) – spied, spy-ing**

**(Plural) - spies**

"Good morning, Mr De Silva."

I nodded slowly, and tucked my identification card into my jacket pocket, sighing with relief as they lifted the barrier. I had to go through this every morning – though it never got any better. Every morning I was filled with a dread that I had forgotten my ID and would have to be escorted from the premises.

Of course, one of the best things about this job was the vehicle they supplied the agents with. There was something to be said about cruising along the driveway up to the O'Neil Agency in a car that blinded anyone who dared to cast eyes on the silver exterior.

The O'Neil Agency itself, however, had to be one of the scariest places I had ever been inside. With its dark bricks and half of the windows dressed with scarlet gave the building the impression of being the setting of a Victorian gothic novel. I received shivers down my spine every time I stepped over the threshold.

"Mr O'Neil." I shook my supervisor's hand confidently, sure that my business-like manner was slowly spreading across my face, though naturally I was a wreck inside. Mr O'Neil was a little intimidating. He was the typical businessman – with a rounded belly and bristly facial hair. Of course he was intimidating.

He was a spy.

"Jessup!" Mr O'Neil greeted me cheerfully, clapping me on the back with such vigour that my knees buckled. Really, when I was first employed here over two years ago I should have corrected him about my name, but after he had ignored my fearful stuttering, I couldn't muster up the confidence (or the energy) to try again.

He led me through a long, narrow corridor where I heard snippets of hushed, rapid conversations from each of the cubicles as I passed them. The supposed gold-plated name plate on each of the doors glinted dully in the cheap electric light, and there was a distinct smell of cheap perfume lingering in the air. I was always glad when we reached Mr O'Neil's office at the end of the corridor. I noticed his definitely gold-plated name plate gleamed brilliantly.

"Have you heard of Beaumont Investigations, Jessup?" O'Neil asked me abruptly, and I tore my eyes from his name plate to answer.

"Aren't they a rival agency, sir?" I replied, and he looked impressed. He sifted through the paperwork on his desk and handed me a single piece of paper. I read through it, slowly. "Paul Slater?"

Mr O'Neil nodded. "Multi-billionaire," he elaborated. "A legend in the movie-making industry to virgin eyes. Underneath the surface, there's a whole lot more." I raised an eyebrow.

"Murder?" I challenged, glancing at the photograph that had accompanied the brief biography. He didn't look the murderous type – in fact, he looked like the type that was never left alone long enough to get away with murder. No doubt the golden highlights were touched up every six weeks, along with his fake tan. He reminded me of the boys my sisters tacked to their bedroom walls.

"Could be," Mr O'Neil answered. "Paul Slater is connected to the disappearance of three young girls, and Beaumont Investigations wants to find out why." I read on – the biography led on to the case Beaumont was planning on exploring.

"This is a big case," I argued. "Surely it should be ours?"

"This is where you come in, De Silva," he said, smiling. "You're the best – everyone agrees. You will be taking this case." I opened my mouth to dispute. "_With _an employee of Beaumont's. Red and I have decided this required the best." I blushed. The best in the business – Jesse De Silva. It had a ring to it.

"Who will I be working with, sir?" I asked. There was a hard knock at the door, and I spun around to see none other than Mr Beaumont himself. Mr Beaumont often reminded me of a vampire – his pale complexion matched with slicked dark hair, and a pointed chin with sharp incisors. Next to him was his complete opposite.

"Maria," I greeted her coolly. My cousin smiled back flirtatiously – as she always did. Her long and thin legs were elongated by her high –heeled shoes and her shorter-than-short skirt, and she clung to Mr Beaumont's arm whilst making sure her figure was at its best. My cousin and I had never gotten along. Suddenly my optimism for my new assignment plummeted.

However, my eyes were drawn to the other figure in the room – a gorgeous, slender girl who stood on Mr Beaumont's other side, silently. Her long brown hair cascaded over her shoulders in glossy ringlets and her deep green eyes were breathtaking. She met my gaze levelly with an amused look on her face.

"May I present to you…" Mr Beaumont stopped mid-sentence when he spotted me. "_Another _De Silva?"

"Indeed," I answered, tearing my eyes from the beautiful girl and offering my hand to him. "Jesse De Silva, sir." He shook my hand, and I gasped at the icy temperature of his skin. However, he did not say anything to me, and instead turned his attentions to his business rival.

"Have you filled your employee in on the assignment?" Mr Beaumont asked, and Mr O'Neil nodded.

"He has the sheet right there," he replied, gesturing towards the paper I held in my hand protectively. Mr Beaumont whisked it from my grasp and threw it into the fire, where it turned black and began to melt onto the wood logs.

"Assignments never leave the office," he reminded me, as I watched the fire crackle miserably. "Rule number one of being a successful investigator. Have you been neglecting attending to your employee's intellect, Mr O'Neil?"

"Certainly not," my superior disagreed, with a swift glance in my direction. "I'm sure it was just a minor lack of judgement on Jessup's behalf." He dismissed us without another word, and I left with Maria hissing a _tsk-tsk_ noise in my ear. I was tempted to whisper something offensive into her ear, but I resisted.

"Jessup?" Maria repeated with a snort. "How long have you been working for this guy? And he still doesn't know your name?"

"Perhaps my employer spends more time working on his cases than developing…interesting relationships with his workers," I added in her ear. My cousin blushed.

"Touché," she surrendered. We stepped into the fresh air, the warm morning air embracing my skin gently. I liked the mornings – especially when it meant I wasn't cooped up in the office I detested so much. Mr Beaumont sniffed the air hungrily.

"I smell hot dogs," he declared. "I'll be back soon." He took the arm of the beautiful girl next to him, and led her away. Maria turned to me with her svelte hands on her hips.

"You know," she said. "You're going to have to get over those childish feelings you have towards me, Hector. I'm not having you snap at me like a seven-year-old whilst we're hiding in a bush somewhere."

"Mr O'Neil has never been reduced to having his agents hide in a bush," I bickered. "And, please. I haven't been referred to as _Hector _since I graduated elementary school." My Christian name rolled reluctantly off my tongue like it tasted of poison.

"Fine, suit yourself-" Maria's sentence was cut short as we crossed the parking lot, as the squealing of brakes signalled to us that a sports car was heading our way. Unfortunately we were alerted too late, and the bonnet had hit Maria in the leg before I had to move her out of the way. Her body was flung into the air, and I rolled across the tarmac out of the way. As soon the car sped off, I rushed to Maria's side, along with several other spectators.

"Call an ambulance!"

"Does she have any relatives?"

"Get some eye-witness accounts!"

"Maria…" I croaked, shaking my cousin's body. She coughed groggily, and her eyelids fluttered. She was alive; her pulse beat in her wrist clearly. I sighed in relief. "It's O.K, _prima, _we'll get you sorted out."

"What happened?" Mr Beaumont came ambling towards us, carrying a hot dog and gazing in dismay down at his agent. "Is she O.K?"

"There's no way she can participate in the assignment in this condition," I declared, cradling her head in my lap. "Sir, you will have to find a replacement."

"Did someone say replacement?" I looked up to see the pretty girl standing over us, shading Maria from the sun. Her skin seemed to glitter in the sunshine, and her smile was overwhelming. She winked at me. "I'm an employee of Beaumont's too, don't worry."

Beaumont grinned. "One of my finest."

She held out her hand. "Nice to meet you." I nodded. "I'm Susannah Simon. Looks like we'll be spending a lot of time together."


	3. The Slater Mansion

**A/N Thanks to everyone who reviewed last chapter! We're really grateful. Please keep it up!**

**Mysterious Girl**

**_The Slater Mansion _**

**Flirt (verb) - 1. Behave playfully in a sexually enticing manner. 2. (flirt with) Experiment casually with (an idea or activity). 3. (flirt with) Deliberately risk (danger or death). **

**Flirt (noun) - A person who habitually flirts.**

The Paul Slater Case was effective immediately. The day after I'd been told about my assignment, and been introduced to my partner, we'd been given our assignment brief and taken to Paul's mansion located deep within Beverly Hills.

Susannah was to pose as a maid, myself as Paul's chauffeur. Both of our agencies were adamant about these being our jobs. Susannah had the opportunity to search the whole house for evidence under pretence of cleaning, and I was able to take Paul wherever he needed to go, as well as listen to all of his phone conversations from my driver's seat. Plus, I get a cool hat and a fast, top-of-the-range car to drive.

"Nervous?" A breathless voice sounded in my ear.

I turned to look over my shoulder and found Susannah standing there, dressed in a maid's outfit, eyes sparkling with mirth as she smiled at me.

"No," I replied, turning around and offering her a smile of my own. "Should I be?"

She shrugged and shook her head, her brown curls falling softly over her eyes.

"We're working for Paul Slater now." She stated. "The guy who is linked to the disappearances of three very different girls. I just -"

I clasped a hand over her mouth as a gardener walked past us. He arched a white eyebrow at me in appreciation before shaking his head and walking away again, whistling happily.

Susannah's eyes were wider than they were before when I finally moved my hand from her mouth.

"What was that about?" She demanded to know, storming after me when I walked away.

"I'm sorry Miss Simon," I smirked at her over my shoulder. "But an assignment never leaves the office. We aren't allowed to discuss the details here."

She rolled her eyes and walked around to stand in front of me.

"Oh," she sighed. "Is that all?"

"Yes," I said cautiously. "Why?"

"Because."

I caught a hint of a smile at the corner of her lips as she turned from me to face the enormity of the Slater mansion.

I arched an eyebrow at the back of her head.

"Because," she finally explained, turning to face me once more. "If you wanted me to keep quiet." She took a step forward. "You could have done it in a way we'd both enjoy."

"Oh, really?" I took a step backwards, away from her. We'd only met yesterday, after all. I didn't want to push her into anything. "And what is that, pray tell?"

She smiled at me before shrugging secretively.

"Let me know when you figure it out."

She'd gone before I had a chance to respond, gone to start her duties as one of the many maids of the Slater mansion, leaving me standing amidst the wild garden surrounding the house and preparing myself to start my new job.

I glanced upwards. This building was nowhere near as old as the O'Neil Agency building was, but, somehow, it was even more daunting.

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"Jesse De Silva." I repeated my name through gritted teeth. Apparently they didn't have me on their record of new employees. 

"I'm sorry Mr. De Silva, but I just can't seem to find you. I have a Jessup De Silva, but no Jesse."

Clenching my eyes shut, I tried to calm myself down. Of course. Mr O'Neil had made all of the arrangements.

"Yeah," I opened my eyes and smiled up at the camera that had been watching me intently since I first pushed the intercom bell on the front door of the mansion. "That's me. My full name, I mean. Though, no one has called me Jessup in years."

My job had perfected me in the art of lying.

"Oh, of course!" The woman on the other end of the intercom stuttered. "It's my fault; I should have made the connection! Come in. I'm sorry to have kept you waiting."

I heard the buzz indicating the door was now unlocked and flashed another smile up towards the camera.

"Thank you," I said before ending the connection between us and walking through the door.

The inside of the Slater Mansion was much more elaborated then the outside. It was huge, for one thing. The perfect place to hide, say, the bodies of three girls.

I looked around the foyer, smiling as I saw Susannah flitting around and cleaning like the many other employees. She glanced up at caught my eye, smiling at me secretively before wiping her hands on her skirt and walking over to me.

"Hey," she began, holding out her hand for mine. "You must be Mr. Slater's new chauffer. I'm Susannah, nice to meet you."

I took her hand and shook it lightly before raising it to my lips, kissing it for the briefest of seconds before letting go.

"Jesse." I replied with a nod of my head. "And likewise."

She took a step towards me, like she had in the garden, but, unlike then, I didn't step backwards. Instead I let her rise to her tip-toes and lean in towards me. Soon her mouth was level with my ear.

"You took your time getting in." She whispered. I didn't reply. "And you _definitely _got the better job."

I hid my chuckle behind a smile as she stepped away from me again.

"Nice meeting you." She repeated as she began walking away. "See you around."

"You too!" I called loud enough for her to hear me from where I stood. She turned and winked at me quickly before continuing with her work.

Her brown hair was tied back in a neat ponytail which bounced neatly behind her as she walked. I had to say, I preferred working with Susannah than with my cousin.

The sound of footsteps coming down the grand staircase interrupted my train of thought. I watched as a man with brown hair and golden highlights came into view. His usually orange tan looked considerably less Satsuma-coloured and more natural. His eyes were a piercing shade of blue. With these movie-star looks, there's no one else it could have possibly been.

Paul Slater.

Suspected murderer.

And he was eyeing up Susannah as she did her work too.

My hands clenched into fist around the rim of my hat, which I'd taken off when I walked inside the house.

"Mr. De Silva?" Paul addressed me without taking his eyes off of Susannah. I watched as she shuddered almost imperceptibly.

"Yes, sir?" I took a step closer to the pair of them. Not that I thought Susannah couldn't hold her own should Paul try something - which I doubted he would with this many witnesses - but because I felt this urge to protect her.

"Bring the car around front." He instructed. "I was needed on set ten minutes ago."

He laughed, the sound of which echoed around the huge foyer.

"Yes, sir." I repeated.

Then, though it pained me to leave Susannah alone with him, I left the house and went to do as he instructed. To not do so would attract suspicion. I couldn't afford to be fired before I actually did any spy work.

"Excuse me a moment." I heard Susannah's melodic voice say to Paul, before hearing soft footsteps as she called out to me. "Jesse!"

"Yes, _querida_?" I cursed myself as the endearment rolled impulsively off my lips.

Hopefully, she doesn't know what it means.

She stopped in front of me, her face stoic.

"From here on out, it's all part of the job, okay?" She stated in a low voice.

I nodded my understanding.

"Good." She smiled at me - that beautiful smile which I knew would always stun me - and then went back over to where Paul was regarding us with a raised eyebrow.

"What was all that about?" He asked casually, his eyes running over Susannah predatorily.

I didn't hear her reply. Instead, I made my way towards the huge front doors.

I risked one look behind me as I left, and saw Paul Slater casually leaning up against the wall as Susannah continued to clean the floor. I saw his lips move before they stopped and Susannah shook her head, laughing quietly.

The sound clenched at my gut.


	4. The Speakeasy

**A/N Thanks so much to everyone who has reviewed.**

**Millie: Very sorry for the slow update. It's all my fault. What do you get when you mix a tempramental memory with a busy schedule - no MG update. So, my bad. Don't blame Meg.

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**Mysterious Girl**

_**The Speakeasy**_

_**Addiction (noun) - the state of being enslaved to a habit or practice or to something that is psychologically or physically habit-forming, as narcotics, to such an extent that its cessation causes severe trauma.**_

Despite the job being tedious, and the novelty of my special hat fading fast, I was quite excited for my first time driving Paul Slater in his flashy limo. It was time for me to feel like I was doing my job for Beaumont, for once. I clicked the key expertly and the orange headlights of the limousine flashed at me. I grinned. This was going to be _so _cool.

I shook myself. Grow up, Jesse.

"Mr Slater," I said, with a courteous nod. He dismissed my manners immediately, and ducked inside the car. I frowned, but looked up to the house where Susannah was standing outside the grand house, her skirt shorter than ever. She blew me a kiss – I blushed.

I climbed into the driver's seat, and pressed a button. The divide between Paul and I wound down, and I was able to see him sitting very stiffly at the back of the car, not enjoying the leather interior at all. If my sisters had been inside this same limo, I had no doubt that they would be climbing all over the seats and helping themselves to the champagne that sat in a cooler.

"To the set, Mr Slater?" I called. His head jerked upwards; his icy blue eyes frightening.

"Let's make a little pit-stop first," he suggested, and I nodded tentatively. He gave me strict directions, and I followed them nervously. Our surroundings became more and more decrepit, and I began to wonder if perhaps Paul was leading me somewhere unpleasant on purpose.

"Are you sure we're going the right way, sir?" I asked. Paul sniffed, sourly.

"Of course, De Silva. I'm a wealthy young man, not a medicated old gork." I twitched at his arrogant tone. "Stop here. I need to pick up something."

"Would you like me to do it for you?" I offered, desperate to stay on the good side of a potential murderer. "It would a lot easier for you-"

"No!" Paul's reaction was immediate, and I jumped. He opened the car door himself, abandoning his briefcase in the backseat. My mind began whirring – was this the ideal time to rifle through his belongings to find proof? I could find evidence to condemn him right this second, but my hands starting shaking as soon as I lifted them off the steering wheel. I scolded myself – I was a personal investigator, not an amateur actor suffering from stage fright. Why didn't I move already?

Just as I was about to start planning my stealthy movement from the driver's seat into the backseat to inspect Paul's briefcase, something else caught my eye. We had parked in an alleyway; the graffiti-ed walls plastered with rave posters and suspicious stains. I hadn't really noticed our environment before hand, having been too stung by Paul's vicious tone, but now I had, and was beginning to feel nervous. What if Paul had brought me here to be taken care of by some violent gang?

But I had spotted Paul. He had crept slowly to a battered, metal green door, and knocked three times. A fairly normal thing to do, I had first thought, but then I realised that the door didn't open – only a hatch in the door did. I couldn't see the face that had appeared in the gap, but Paul spoke avidly to him, as if afraid he would get caught before he had finished.

Suddenly, a horrifying thought hit me. A run-down neighbourhood like this one would be the perfect hiding place for…oh, I don't know. Three dead girls' bodies, perhaps? I began to feel ill, and could feel the bile rise in my throat. He had hidden the girls in this neighbourhood, in that building, and was coming to check on them…

But then the flap closed, and Paul turned around to begin walking down the stone steps again. My neck snapped in the opposite direction so that I could pretend I didn't see anything. Out of the corner of my eye, however, I spotted that Paul had stopped walking. Slowly, I craned my neck so that I could get a better view.

A man had joined Paul. His arms were intricately tattooed, and he wore leather from head-to-toe. Paul dug into his pocket, and thrust green papers into the man's palm – money. He was paying him for something – possibly keeping the bodies a secret? The man inspected the notes, before nodding, satisfied. He then began to hobble back into his apartment, knocking three times on the green door before he was able to enter. Paul however, started towards the limousine, and climbed in. I started the engine hurriedly.

"The set now, sir?" I asked, politely. He graced me with a swift nod, and I reversed out of the alleyway, glad to leave the awful place. Even the smoky air was putting me on edge. I drove quickly to the set, and jumped out of the driver's seat to let him out of the car. He pressed me against the car, and put his face close to mine.

"You didn't see anything in that alleyway, De Silva," he growled. "You hear me?"

"Sir," I stuttered, but he silenced me by thrusting money into my hand.

"You keep quiet," he said, and I glanced down at the notes. There had to be ten of them at least, and each one read 100 bucks. I gulped. "Or I'll get you for stealing. That's a hell of a lot of money I've just given you."

"Sir, I don't need to be paid off-" I tried again, but he wouldn't have it. Instead, he closed my open palm with a threatening look.

"It's just so I'm sure," he replied dangerously, and then he proceeded towards the set, where Anthony, the security guard, buzzed him in. Paul nodded at him, and Anthony rubbed his moustache furiously. He obviously wasn't pleased with Paul's cold demeanour either.

"Susannah." I picked up the walkie-talkie Beaumont had supplied me with and addressed my colleague urgently. "Susannah, can you hear me?"

"Yes," her musical voice tinkled in my ear. "Yeah, Jesse, I can hear you. Whadduya want?"

"Search Paul's room," I instructed her. "Look for anything – anything that might be classed as suspicious." Susannah sighed. "What is it, _querida_?" I cursed myself again for the word I had already associated with her.

"Already done," she answered. "I rushed up there as soon as you left."

"And?" I pressed. "Did you find anything?"

"Nope." I was disappointed. "Nothing but a whole lot of cigarettes."

"Never mind," I answered. I looked down at the wad of notes still neat in my hand, and inspiration hit me. "Hey, _querida_?" Her voice sounded down the other end. "Keep your evening clear tonight. I have a little surprise for you."


	5. The Date

**A.N - Just to let you know, I'm a fan of this chapter. xD**

**We just want to let you all know that Moondancing Millie has started a Mediator Awards Forum, right now you can nominate for whatever stories you want that fit into the different categories. Voting begins Januray 2008.**

**Forums, Mediator Then Scroll till you find Simon Says: It's Award Time.**

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**Mysterious Girl**

_**The Date**_

**Date (noun) - ****a social appointment, engagement, or occasion arranged beforehand with another person: **_**to go out on a date on Saturday night.**_

Susannah had seemed quite excited at the thought of going out that evening, and I tried not to let it go to my head. Though, of course, it was very hard – particularly as I was just as enthusiastic about tonight.

The money Paul had … given me, for lack of a better term, had been spent on a range of food and placed inside a small picnic basket, which was stored in the trunk of my car. Susannah didn't know where we were going; I was determined to surprise her.

The hours since I had first contacted Susannah via the walkie-talkie had been long and tedious. I felt anxious – not to mention bored. I was an undercover agent, a spy! Pretending to be chauffer to one of the highest paid movie stars this decade was not what I wanted to be doing right now, particularly as it left me hanging around on the set, just on the off chance Paul would need to be driven somewhere. I wanted to be a spy – wanted to search his house for clues like Susannah had been doing since our departure.

Instead I had to watch Paul Slater act … and help myself to the doughnuts on the table next to me.

There was a crackle in my ear before a voice rang loud and clear.

"Whatcha doing?"

I could hear the snap of Susannah's teeth as she chewed on a piece of gum and I smiled. This girl is the least conventional spy you will ever meet – which makes her perfect for undercover ops.

"Oh, I get it," her voice chimed again. "You're in a position where you can't talk right now."

There was a brief moment of silence.

"I, on the other hand, can talk all I want."

I picked up a doughnut and took a huge bite, just to distract myself from the musical sound of giggling in my ear.

"You'll never guess where I am right now."

The creak of bed springs sounded in my ear.

"Yeah, Paul's room." She stated. "Though why anyone would need a mirror _that_ big, I don't know. Sure, I knew he was vain, but come on!"

My eyes bulged and I finished the rest of the doughnut before quickly excusing myself to somewhere quiet. My walkie-talkie was in my hand the next second.

"Querida!" I exclaimed, not even bothering to curse myself for the term of endearment – it didn't matter any more. "What are you doing in there?"

"Oh so you _can_ talk now?" She sarcastically replied. "Relax, I'm not there, I'm in my own room."

I felt my heart slowly return to its normal pace.

"But I was there earlier, you know that. And there was a huge mirror." I could almost see the smile on her beautiful face. "There was something attached to the mirror though, a picture of a girl."

A girl? My mind was working overdrive. Could it have been a family member … or his next victim?

"She was very pretty – typical Californian blonde surfer-girl type person." Susannah paused. "Her name was written underneath the picture. Taylor something. Peterson, maybe?"

By this point, she was just musing out loud and my mind refused to stop working. There was something familiar about that name.

"Oh, I gotta go," Susannah startled me with her outburst. "Back to work. I'll see you later, Jessup."

She disconnected us with a giggle and I couldn't help but smile at her, despite the fact that she used a name that wasn't even mine.

There was just something about this girl that made my heart beat faster.

--- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---

"Jesse!" Susannah's voice whined whilst the girl herself was looking particularly lovely in a short green dress that showed off her legs perfectly. I was finding it hard to remain a gentleman and not stare at her. "Where are you taking me?"

The smile on her face single-handedly told me how much fun she was having, even if I was refusing to let her know our location.

She glanced out of the window and gasped at the sight that was made.

"Jesse … It's beautiful."

'It' was the orange sun dipping beneath the wide blue expanse of the Pacific Ocean, the sky a blazing red and soft pink whilst the sea reflected yellow rays as it sparkled in the twilight.

I, however, could not see anything past the girl sitting in my passenger seat.

"Yes, you are."

I had never been as forward as that in my entire life, and it's not even like what I'd said was wrong in anyway. Generally, I tended to shy away from the opposite sex. But, as I said, there was just something about Susannah Simon that drew me in.

A soft pink blush rose to her cheeks and she ducked her head in embarrassment – another interesting development within our partnership. I had never thought of Susannah as being shy.

"Yeah, so," in her attempt to change the conversation, her grin was back in place and she flipped her hair over one should as she tilted her head towards me. "Are we there yet?"

I laughed as she accompanied her question with a small poke of her tongue and nodded.

"Yeah, we're here." I climbed out of the car and jogged around to her door. "Hop on out, m'lady."

Susannah dramatically put one hand to her forehead and fake-swooned.

"My, my," she spoke with a Texan drawl. "What a gentleman."

I linked her hand with my own – another act of forwardness that was unlike me – and squeezed her hand.

"Well," I began. "There's that, or there's the fact that I am now posing as a chauffer to the most egoistic celebrity in the states. He can't open doors, you know. Not by himself."

I nudged her lightly in the ribs with my elbow before directing her to the wide stretch of white sand.

"Stay here?" I asked, waiting for her answering nod before I went to retrieve the hidden picnic basket in the trunk, complete with blanket to sit on.

Even though I had been gone for just over a minute, if not less than, the sight of Susannah, sat down on the sand with her hands wrapped around her knees took my breath away.

"Here," I straightened out the blanket on the sand and gestured for her to sit down. "We can't have you getting that dress sandy."

She smiled at me and lifted a hand, wanting me to help her up. With a smile in return, I held out my hand and grasped her own warm, soft, smaller one tightly, pulling her up gently as my other hand came to rest on her waist lightly to keep her in balance.

"Thanks," she whispered, her eyes darting everywhere – a glance at the sea, the last of the sun, the blanket, the basket – before, finally, they stared into my own. "For everything."

"My pleasure," I replied in just as quiet a tone and tightened my arms around her waist just enough to be noticed by her.

She stopped closer towards me, her chest against my own, her toes brushing against mine through the sand. Her head was down as she looked up at me from beneath her eyelashes, her teeth biting softly down on to her bottom lip.

And it was at that moment that I lost my meagre amount of self-control.

My hand rested beneath her chin as I tilted her face up towards mine and covered her lips with my own.


	6. The Plan

**A/N Yes, I know, it's been a month! Reply to the most recent review from XGabbyAthensX - the story is still on! It's just my (Millie) laziness for writing this! Really what Megan should do is give me a right kick up the ...**

**Enjoy.**

**Mysterious Girl**

_**The Plan**_

**_Scheme (noun) - a plan, design, program to be followed._**

**_Verb (used with object) - _to lay schemes; plot.**

"You know," I said, in between the kisses I was laying on Susannah's neck. "I really should go. Paul called for me ten minutes ago; he's going to get suspicious." Susannah giggled, and pulled me back by my shirt when I tried to move away. I moved my head up and grinned against her lips before kissing her again.

"Let him be suspicious," Susannah replied, her eyes closed as her fingers explored the back of my neck. "I'm having far too much fun here to care."

We were in her room, kissing against her locked door. We'd made a promise to keep our trysts strictly after our working hours ended, but Susannah was becoming increasingly more persuasive, and I had found myself shirking my responsibilities as a chauffeur in order to spend more time with her. She was infectious; I couldn't spend enough time with her.

"_So _unprofessional," I whispered in her ear, and she giggled again; the noise causing goosebumps to erupt all up my arm. "But, seriously now, _querida_, I must go. Do you want me to get fired?" She chose not to answer my question.

"Are we together now?" she asked instead, walking her fingers up my arm flirtatiously. "Or are you just having fun toying with my emotions?" I was surprised by her question, and answered immediately.

"Contrary to popular belief, Susannah," I replied sternly. "I do not make out with people that I am not in a relationship with." She smiled. "And I would never toy with anyone's emotions; especially not yours." She threw her arms around my neck and kissed me again. Then she froze and looked around the room carefully.

"What's wrong?" I questioned. She chewed her lip thoughtfully before answering.

"I wonder if Paul's installed CCTV in here," she said, pensively. "Maybe he's watching this all right now and has just called you to fire you." I rolled my eyes playfully at her suggestion, but her expression was quite serious. "Ew!" she cried. "I can't believe he would install cameras in here. I mean, this room is where I _change_."

"Then of course he would install cameras," I teased, watching her expression turn to one of horror. "Are you going to pretend to me that you haven't noticed the way Paul has been acting towards you recently?" She blushed, but shook her head.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said. I sighed. "Well-" She dug me in the ribs. "_You _had better get going, or you _will _be fired."

"And _you_," I retorted. "Had better be that beautiful when I come back." She blew me a kiss, and I left, careful to shut the door quietly so that nobody heard me leave. I moved quickly to the main reception room of the house, where Paul had told me he would be. I found him slouched on the biggest sofa, reading a book – by an author whose name I couldn't pronounce. I smoothed my jacket hurriedly before clearing my throat.

"Sorry I'm late sir, I was otherwise engaged…" Paul waved an impatient hand and gestured for me to sit down on an adjacent sofa. I did so, obediently, watching his face for any clue of what this conversation was going to be about.

"I have asked you to come to me to talk about Susannah Simon," he said eventually, in a calm voice. My stomach flipped. Had Susannah's ridiculous theory of hidden cameras been right after all? Was Paul about to fire me? "Do you know if she is seeing anyone?"

Immediately realising how stupid it was of me to panic, I thought carefully about my answer. Paul had obviously realised I was fairly acquainted with her, and wanted to find out intimate details of her personal life. Though, of course, he had no idea just how intimate the details of her personal life were.

"I'm not sure, sir," I answered. "I hear she is seeing someone from her hometown – Brooklyn. Their long-distance relationship is going very well. She thinks he may be about to propose." I cursed myself for my long-winded lie, but it was too late now – it was out of my mouth. Paul considered this for a while before speaking nonchalantly.

"Long-distance relationships are easily broken," he decided, casually. "Do you think she would consider me, Jessup?" Not bothering to correct him on my name, I shrugged neutrally.

"I have no idea of what Miss Simon looks for in a man," I replied. "She and I are only friends, after all." I nearly laughed at what I was saying, but thankfully Paul seemed to believe me. He nodded, and then waved me away.

"I need the car in five minutes, De Silva," he said. "Have it ready." I bowed my head slightly before hurrying along the vast corridor, fishing in my pockets for the keys to the limousine. I made a mental note to savour the conversation between Paul and I and relay it to Susannah later on.

* * *

As expected, Susannah burst into an uncontrollable fit of giggles as soon as I told her what Paul had called me for. She turned an adorable shade of pink – a colour I'd assumed she reserved for me, and was careful to nip it in the bud.

"You know," I said, conversationally. "If you're so excited about Mr. Slater's feelings for you, you should pay him a visit and ask him out. I hear he's planning to ask you soon anyway." Susannah rolled her eyes and placed her head beneath my chin.

"Is Jesse getting jealous?" she asked me, and I grumbled a faint 'no'. She linked her fingers with mine and kissed them gently. "You know it's you I want. Paul Slater?" She pulled a face. "Count me out."

"I'm glad to hear it," I replied firmly. "I think that getting involved with Paul would only lead to trouble, even if we weren't together." Inspiration suddenly dawned on Susannah's face, and I grew concerned. "What is it?" I asked.

"It might only lead to trouble," she repeated. "But it could lead to some answers." I grasped what she said immediately, and shook my head resolutely. There was no way on Earth. How could she even consider the possibility that I'd agree…?

"No," I voiced, just to confirm it. She looked disappointed.

"Come on, Jess," she said, seductively kissing her way up my neck. "It could give us all the answers we need. I'd know exactly where he was at all times! I'd be able to search his bedroom at any opportunity…" I felt a bit nauseous.

"No, _querida_," I repeated. "I couldn't let you. It's dangerous – you could get hurt."

"I'm a big girl, Jesse," she persisted, sliding a hand under my shirt to feel the wall of muscle I had spent most of my senior summer vacation toning, and then every summer vacation after that preserving. "I can look after myself. Please…" She trailed off once she felt me weaken. I grabbed her intrusive hand and held it in front of me, before surrendering.

"Fine. But if you ever need me, you call…" She nodded.

"Of course," she agreed. "And I'll always keep my special blush for you." I grinned. I mouthed a 'thank-you' and kissed her hand. She squeezed my fingers before raising her eyebrows at me. "You know, we could start this whole thing right now." I frowned confusedly.

"What do you mean? Beaumont hasn't asked us for any information yet, and neither has Mr. O'Neil." Susannah shrugged.

"Doesn't mean we can't take matters into our own hands," she replied. "Plus, it'll give us a chance to test the waters Paul-wise. Are you in?" I thought carefully for a few moments, before finally nodding my head. This girl had more power over me than I could control. "Perfect," she said, before dropping my hand and leading the way out of her bedroom. "Didn't you say a while ago that you wanted to take part in some spy action? Well, here's your chance."

I mumbled something incoherent and followed Susannah down several corridors, until she stopped me at the corner of one, pressing her hands against my chest. "Stay here," she told me. "I'll give you a signal when it's safe to come in." I looked around the corner to see Paul just coming out of a room I assumed was his bedroom. I nodded, and wished her luck before she put on her most flirtatious smile and greeted Paul in her girlish voice. I chose not to watch as she ran a hand down his cheek and giggled at everything he said.

Soon, he had her pressed against a wall and was kissing her deeply. _Nombre de Dios, _I thought. _He doesn't waste much time. _Susannah broke away from the kiss to cough loudly and falsely, which I took to mean my signal. I moved stealthily past the kissing couple and slipped into the room without Paul noticing. I sighed in relief and started to sift through a pile of papers on his desk.

**BEEP! BEEP! **My cell phone began to buzz angrily in my pocket and I fumbled urgently to silence it. I glanced at the screen to see that it was my mother calling – and she never called unless it was an emergency. I debated quickly between answering and sending it to voicemail – I wasn't sure if Susannah could keep Paul _that _distracted, before finally pressing the button that allowed me to talk.

"What is it, _madre_?" I hissed. "I'm working – can I call you back?"

"Oh, Hector!" my mother sobbed into the receiver. "It's Marta – she's missing!"


	7. The Discovery

**A/N Thankyou so much for your reviews! You have no idea how much we love them... **

**See, we updated soonish, yes? This chapter is from Meg, and I particularly like it. (Yes, it's Millie on Meg's account, get your head round _that _one...)**

**Millie (on behalf of the both of us)**

* * *

**Mysterious Girl**

_**The Discovery**_

_**Missing [Miss-ing -- Adjective 1. lacking, absent, or not found: a missing person.**_

_**-- Idiom 2. Go missing, Chiefly British. To disappear; become lost: My keys have gone missing.**_

I froze. I couldn't do anything else. I kept my cell phone close to my ear, my mother weeping hysterically down the line. My sister - beloved Marta - was missing. And I couldn't move.

At least until I heard two pairs of footsteps getting closer.

"I'll be there as soon as I can _madre, _I have to go now." I shut the phone with a sigh, digging it down into my pocket as I quickly pulled out my keys and they skidded across the desk in front of me, bumping to a stop against a mirror.

Susannah was right; It _was _big. Though that isn't what caught my attention, it was the picture of Taylor Peterson that Susannah had mentioned and I realised why the name was so familiar as I recognised her face.

"What are you doing in here, Jessup?"

The footsteps had stopped as Paul found his way to his room, a flushed, pink-cheeked Susannah following behind him, shrugging apologetically at her not being able to keep Paul distracted.

By the look of his arm hooked possessively around her waist, however, I'd say she'd distracted him enough. Paul Slater wasn't even looking at me anymore, instead he'd directed his attention just south of Susannah's neck, making me clench my fists in anger.

Turning my back on the scene, I glanced at the face in the photo once again as I snatched up my keys.

"I left my keys in here, sir." I responded with ease.

He didn't even think to question how they got in here in the first place, for which I was thankful. Instead, he nodded and waved me away. I walked past the couple, my eyes pleading with Susannah to leave as well. I hadn't realised how much this plan of ours would _hurt _me.

She pulled away from Paul's amorous attention slightly, bracing her hands on his chest.

I knew I should leave, go straight to my mother's house and file a missing persons report with her down at the police station. I stayed out of sight in the doorway, instead, watching to see if Susannah could get out of this.

"I should go too," she told him, a little breathily. "I have work to do."

"Suze," Paul shook his head, a highlighted lock of hair falling over his eyes. "You work for me, and I'm not exactly going to fire you for wanting to spend a little time with me …"

He trailed off suggestively and Susannah giggled.

"I still have to go," she insisted. "I'm needed elsewhere."

"You're needed right here, baby." Paul's hands settled on her waist.

Her eyes widened almost imperceptibly and I could see that she _really_ didn't want to stay there so I did the only thing I could think of. I pulled out my cell phone once again and dialled Susannah's number, praying that she had her phone on her.

Relief filled me at the sound of her phone playing one of Paul Slater's songs as a ring tone. He smirked self-assuredly upon hearing it and Susannah smiled at him, glanced at the Caller ID, and whipped upon the phone quickly.

"Hello?"

I heard her beautiful voice in my ear and through the door.

"Get out of there." I murmured, careful of being heard by Slater. "_Please_."

Susannah, never one to be called stupid, replied immediately.

"Mom?" She asked worriedly. "Mom what's wrong?"

"Oh," I replied, teasing her slightly. "I'm your mother now, am I?"

"Oh no!" I saw a faint smile itch at the corner of her mouth, her attempts at hiding it extremely unsuccessful in my opinion. Paul remained indifferent. "Is he alright?"

She started pacing with the phone in her hand.

"As your mother, I'm telling you," I grinned, though no one could see me. "Get out of that man's room and come and kiss your boyfriend."

"Okay mom, I'll be right there."

She slammed her phone shut and explained to Paul that her step-brother, Brad, had been involved in a freak wrestling accident and was in hospital.

Paul pouted in a rather unmanly fashion, upon hearing the news.

"Do you have to go?"

"_Yes_." She hissed before walking out the room, calling back to Paul as she did so. "I'll be back later."

I was waiting as Susannah walked out the room, pushing her phone back into her denim skirt pocket. Wasting no more time, I grasped her hand and walked her towards a hidden alcove - of which there were many in the Slater mansion.

"So," she began. "It seems like someone is jealous, after all."

In response, I crushed my lips to hers.

"I didn't know…" I kissed her lips. "Just how much…" Her neck. "I would be."

Finally, I kissed her nose affectionately as she blushed that special blush she'd promised was for me alone.

"I've told you," she spoke softer now, her tone more serious. "It's you I want."

"I know," I admitted with a sigh, running my hand through my hair. "It's just … hard to watch, you know?"

Her face went hard as she obviously thought how she'd react in the same situation before she pulled me to her for another kiss.

"I know." She finally agreed when we pulled apart. "So," she went on conversationally. "What was that phone call about? We heard it ringing from down the hall."

"It's my sister." I felt my face immediately fall at the reminder. "She's missing."

Susannah's beautiful mouth fell open in shock.

"And you didn't leave earlier, why?"

"I had to get you away from him."

She rolled her eyes.

"I've told you, I'll be fine." I kissed her quickly. "Now go."

I did as she said, and left her alone in the long hallway, dialling a familiar number as I walked.

"I'm on my way, _madre_."

* * *

Filing a missing person report was a long and tiring process. My hysterical mother was sobbing loudly in the waiting room of the police department whilst I flicked disinterestedly through a magazine. I had always distanced myself from situations. I supposed it's what made me a good spy. I laughed ironically at myself. _The best in the business._

Finally, we were able to disclose what we knew to the officers and they nodded gravely at what my mother had to say.

"First," she sniffed and started again. "First Marta's friend went missing. Poor Taylor, the Petersons have been distraught. And now Marta … my own daughter!"

Taylor Peterson was my sister Marta's oldest and closest friend. That's why I had recognised the name.

The police officers taking the report nodded sympathetically.

"You know, we've had a couple of these kids go missing," he insisted in what was a complete breach of contract which no one particularly cared about at this moment. "We don't have any leads at all."

I glanced over at the pair.

"Could I see the reports?"

My question was met with laughter, shortly before they both pinned me with looks of disbelief.

"We're not allowed to show you them." One said. "That's classified information."

I rolled my eyes, glancing briefly at my still agitated mother before fixing the officers with a hard stare of my own. I'd been through too much today, didn't want to waste any more time. I leant over the desk and lowered my voice so that my mother could not hear.

"Listen, I work for O'Neil," I informed them. "I'm working undercover on this case. Can I please see the reports?"

I threw my badge down onto the desk for good measure. My identity wasn't questioned again after that.

* * *

It had been a long day, that was for sure. I pulled up on the Slater mansion driveway, driving the car I'd been assigned to drive as part of my job, and turned off the engine before making no move to exit the vehicle.

Instead, I rest my head on the steering wheel, thinking over Marta's disappearance, as well as the various other missing people.

Well, not all of them were missing. The girls - because all the victims were girls - that had been found provided no evidence to who their murderer was. Whoever it was had hidden their tracks well. The only way, that I could tell, that Paul Slater was linked to this case was the picture of Taylor on his mirror.

Only one thing about each of the cases was the same.

They'd all been found with a particular brand of cigarette somewhere on their person. It was almost as if it was the murderers calling card, or something equally as disturbing.

I shook my head, clearing my thoughts and moved to get out of the car and find Susannah. I needed her with me right now, needed her support, and her kisses.

The back door of the car opened and a male figure slid onto the seat.

"Glad I caught you, De Silva," Paul Slater grinned. "I just need to go to the shops real quick."

Nodding my affirmation, I started up the car and drove to the nearest shop, parked and then walked to Paul's door and opened it for him. He grinned as he walked past me and into the shop.

He came out again not five minutes later, clutching a red and white packet of cigarettes, lighting one up before taking a drag.

"Ah, that's better." He took another deep drag. "Hey, you want one? You look kind of stressed."

He held out the packet to me, giving me a clear view of the brand. _Marlboro_. The same ones that had been found with the missing girls.

Paul Slater had just further incriminated himself, unknowingly.


	8. The Warning

**A.N - Chapter courtesy of my good friend Moondancing Millie who has left me to actually post. She gets all the fun of writing, then I'm stuck with the annoying technical part. Hehe. Yeah, so who thinks that we should kick her? For waiting so long to update? I do! Plus she told me to say it. Probably so she can attack me when I take forever next time. xD**

**Enjoy.**

* * *

Mysterious Girl

_**The Warning**_

_**threaten (verb, used with object) – **_**1. to utter a threat against; menace**

**2. to indicate impending evil or mischief**

Several weeks passed, with no news of Marta. And to trouble my _Madre _further, two more girls disappeared, similar ages to my sister. It was no longer a coincidence – there was a pattern emerging, and something had to be done about it.

"De Silva." Paul spoke sharply, yanking me from my vengeful reverie. I eyed him sullenly, my fists curling automatically. I was yet to receive orders to arrest or otherwise inform him of any evidence we had against him, but it was all I could do to refrain from shoving him against the wall and squeeze his jugular till he gave me details as to the whereabouts of my beloved Marta. "Drive me to the convenience store; I need a cigarette."

My responding tone was cool. "Yes, sir," I said, reaching for my keys and smart chauffeur cap. "I'll have the car brought round in a few minutes." I left the room, my shirt damp and the back of my neck hot with rage. If that man had harmed my sister, I would make him pay…

"Susannah." I had nearly collided with her as I turned a corner, deep in furious thoughts. She jumped as she saw me, before resting against my chest, breathing hard. "I'm sorry. Did I scare you?"

"Yes," she panted. "I thought you were Paul. Nearly scared me to death." I became concerned.

"Why?" I asked, cautiously. "Is he causing you harm, Susannah?" She scoffed, and made a dismissive gesture with her hand.

"Oh, save it, Prince Charming," she said, teasingly. "You know _this _heroine can look after herself fine." I released her from my embrace reluctantly. "Where you off to, anyways?" I lowered my voice.

"Paul wants cigarettes from the convenience store," I explained, placing my hat on top of my head, feeling important suddenly. "You know. _The _cigarettes." She nodded, knowingly, before tweaking my head with a cheeky grin.

"I love that hat on you," she replied, before running an affectionate finger down my cheek. "Make sure you wear it when you visit me tonight." I smiled, before saluting.

"Yes, ma'am." She rolled her eyes, before smoothing the shoulders of my uniform.

"You'd better go," she informed me. "It's been a few minutes; Paul will be wondering where his limousine is." I nodded, and bent my head to kiss her softly before making my way to the large and luxuriously decorated garage, where the limousine sat in all its ebony glory. I opened it quickly and climbed inside, relishing the cool and quiet, before starting the engine and backing out of the drive, ready to meet Paul.

* * *

"Thank-you, De Silva," Paul said with a nod, as I held the passenger door open for him. I closed it with a slam – I couldn't resist – and returned to the driver's seat, and stepping on the gas. It seemed futile, using the limousine and its fuel-consuming engine for a simple journey to the local store, yet for Paul to go by foot was impossible – he was stopped by screaming teenage girls on every street corner. And I didn't trust myself with the freedom going for him offered.

"I'll be back in a second," Paul announced, before stepping out of the car and disappearing into the store, reaching for dollar notes from his pocket before he'd even set foot inside. I drummed, bored, on the steering wheel, before fiddling with the radio in an attempt to get a reception. In between squeals and buzzes, however, I caught snatches of sentences:

_Now a total of five girls missing… no leads as of yet … police doing all they can … counselling offered to families…_

I scoffed. Propaganda; to make the public really believe the police were trying their best. At the last visit to the police station with my mother, half the employees had been gathered round a desk at the back, sharing a box of doughnuts and a flask of coffee.

Paul reappeared, pocketing a packet of Marlboros and lighting the one between his lips, before slipping into the back seat. I pressed a button to my right, making the intersection rise before the disgusting fumes could reach me in the front seat.

We passed several alleyways on our way back, each as dark and as gloomy as the previous one. I paused to examine interestedly the fifth one we passed whilst I waited for the lights to change from red to green, and noted that it could probably fit a limousine down it…

I turned the wheel, easing the limousine down it. Paul's voice sounded from the backseat.

"Hey! What the hell's going on?" I heard him reach for the door handle, and nudged the manual lock with my elbow – Paul was now trapped inside, where he would remain until I let him out. "De Silva!"

I opened my door, stepping out into the littered alleyway. I then slunk to release Paul from his prison, before seizing him around his collar and throwing him to the wall, bringing my face close to his threateningly.

"You're dating Susannah Simon," I said, in a voice that was no louder than a whisper. My voice was hoarse. "You have no idea how lucky you are." He didn't respond, yet a faint smirk appeared on his lips. I shook him hard.

"You hurt her," I continued. "And you'll live to regret it. And you touch my sister, and you're dead." Paul coughed, the foul stench of his smoky breath burning my nostrils.

"And you threaten me like this again, De Silva," he replied, smoothly. "And you'll be fired."

"I mean it," I said, before roughly releasing him. He adjusted himself, before tossing a disgusted look my way.

"As do I."

He got back into the car – without me holding the door for him – and I did the same, my fingers trembling. Had I now put Susannah in danger, just because of one moment of selfishness? Paul was now aware of my feelings for her, and no doubt he'd use that against me. I growled, furious with myself, before restarting the engine. I was an idiot.

Once we were back at Paul's mansion, we did not exchange another word. Instead, I was left silently to lock the car and return to the main part of the house by myself. I saw that Paul was watching his large-screened television in the lounge, and therefore crept upstairs to find Susannah, to warn her of my stupidity and selfishness.

"Susannah?" I whispered, as I tiptoed down the hallway. "Susannah, are you there?"

There was no answer. I found her door, and knocked on it gently. I repeated her name, now growing worried.

"Susannah?"

The door swung open, and a short-lived wave of relief swept over me, before I realised that the girl in the bedroom was not Susannah. It was not Susannah at all.

"Hey," said Maria, with an amused smile. "I'm back."


	9. The Replacements

**A.N - You should all be happy to know that Millie and I have actually already planned out the NEXT chapter. I know, we're shocked too. But it should mean that you shouldn't have to wait too long until the next update. (hint, hint emily). :P**

**Hope you like this one. We do.**

**- Meg.**

* * *

**Mysterious Girl**

**The Replacements**

_Suspicion (noun) 1. an impression that something might be the case; "he had a suspicion that something had gone wrong"_

_2. Doubt about someone's honesty._

"_Hey," said Maria, with an amused smile. "I'm back."_

"You're back?" The words brought with them a sense of foreboding. "What happened to Susannah?"

Maria rolled her eyes and pushed herself off the bed she'd been sitting on to walk closer to me.

"Off the case," she replied flippantly, her too sharp nails moving to gently graze my neck as they worked their way through my hair. "It only takes a few weeks to heal a broken leg, you know."

Her fingers clutched in them my chauffeur hat and Maria took a step backwards as she studied the dark black material carefully.

"Hmmm," her tone was one of speculation as the hat in her hands was turned every way so as to be studied from every angle. It was atop her head in the next moment. "This hat looks good on you."

I had to take her word for it – I hadn't looked at myself wearing said hat in many weeks.

"What do you think?" She continued, arms out to her sides as she twirled and struck a pose. "Does it look as good on me?"

"Better." I grated the word out through gritted teeth – not meaning a syllable - the hat looked better on myself, of course – and snatched the item away from my cousin before it lost all of its appeal.

Right now, with Susannah not available to talk to like I'd wanted, my sister missing and Paul Slater as a suspect, this hat was the best part of my job.

"But, unfortunately," I continued. "It is part of my uniform and not yours."

Maria's eyes rolled once again as she waved a dismissive hand.

"I'll deal." She shrugged and then returned her attention to me, a smile spreading across her face predatorily. "So … how close are we to shutting this case?"

"_We_, cousin, have just started this case." I told her shortly. "Susannah and I, on the other hand, are pretty much in the final stage."

"Well, _cousin_," Maria responded in kind. "Susannah isn't here, and I am. It's my case now. And the sooner we close it, the sooner we can … celebrate."

I felt disgust rise in my throat and a retort was ready on my lips, burning my tongue, as my pager beeped.

Paul Slater needed my services.

"I need to go." I spat instead, this never-ending, torturous day seemingly showing no signs of getting any better.

"Don't be too long," she locked her hands around my neck and pulled me closer towards her lips before placing them on my cheek. "We have a case to discuss."

* * *

For a man as obnoxious and self-obsessed as Paul Slater actually was, he sure got a lot of fan mail.

I browsed through the many, _many_ letters littering his desk.

Paul glanced over at me uninterestedly.

"Oh, I try to answer as many as I can by hand." He smiled. "For the fans, you know?"

I said nothing, glaring down at the letters and at the picture of Taylor Peterson stuck to the mirror. Nothing Paul Slater could say now would successfully convince me that he was _not_ a murderer. However much he may claim to love his fans.

One particular piece of paper caught my eye. It reminded me of a stationary set I'd once given Marta when she was younger. Bright pink pieces of paper complete with glitter pen and glue. I shook my head, amused.

Picking up the letter, I merely scanned the content before glancing at the name at the bottom.

_**Your loving, number one fan (like you don't get that a lot!),**_

_**Taylor Peterson**_

_**Xoxo**_

The paper was in danger of being ripped with the intensity in which I was gripping it.

I read through the letter more carefully this time, noting the date in which it was sent – a good two months back, before she went missing – as well as the fact that she'd included a picture for him – the one now proudly displayed on his mirror.

She'd even included her home address in case he wanted to reply to her.

It all added up; Paul Slater had had the perfect opportunity to kill Taylor Peterson. He could've just walked up to her house and made sure to ask for her – considering he knew what she looked like – and she wouldn't have hesitated to leave with him. I knew Taylor, and she would've gone.

It made perfect sense – it only lacked a motive.

"Hey, De Silva." Paul's voice forced my attention back to him. "Which tie do you think is better?"

He held up two identical lengths of silk, the only difference being the colour - blue or green.

"Blue," I replied, my eyes returning to scanning the mass of letters below me. "It'll match your eyes."

I missed the look he gave me following that. I can only assume that it wasn't exactly a good one.

"Okay, thanks."

I looked at the letter that Paul was currently writing, the paper contained a few words before he'd put the pen down and had to leave.

It was dated new, just yesterday. But it was also addressed to – who else? – Taylor Peterson.

Which made absolutely no sense whatsoever. Why would he even bother to write her back after he had killed her?

He would have known that she'd been killed already – it had been all over the news.

Maybe, just maybe, Paul Slater _wasn't_ the murderer after all.

Before I could work myself into an early grave by over thinking it, Paul clamped a heavy hand down on my shoulder.

"Ready to go?"

I nodded, even whilst his smile grew strangely smug.

* * *

Whenever Paul spoke to give me a direction, I swear that I heard a certain self-satisfaction lacing his voice. Ignoring it, I followed silently.

We'd pulled up in front of a house I didn't recognise – which didn't surprise me all that much – and it finally dawned on me that Paul Slater was going on a date.

I rolled my eyes at the thought.

He was getting driven around on a date. _Celebrities_…

"Could you go and knock the door for me, Jessup?" I gritted my teeth as Paul laughed. "It's better if I'm not seen in public so much."

"Yes, sir."

My teeth were clenched and a muscle clicked in my jaw as I opened my door and walked up the small pathway towards the house door in front of me.

Ringing the doorbell, I stepped away and waited for it to be opened.

The girl who opened looked amazing. Her tanned legs were on show, adorned by a strapped silver heel that complimented her baby-blue dress beautifully.

She was truly gorgeous, I realised as I finally looked at her face and froze in shock. She was … Susannah.

I felt like I'd been punched in the stomach.

"Susannah?" I asked incredulously, Paul's smugness now making perfect sense. "What are you doing here?"

She smiled at me dazzlingly.

"I'm going on a date," she announced, walking past me.

"With the enemy?" I countered.

Her sparkling green eyes rolled.

"There's no other way, Jesse." She reminded me. "I've been pulled off the case, thanks to your cousin. This is the only way I can stay involved."

Her words were true - there was no doubting that. But it didn't help me like it anymore.

"But, Susannah -" I tried to reason.

"Jesse, it's okay." She grinned. "I can look after myself."

"I know," I sighed.

"And I'll never like him as much as I like you. You're special."

I smiled.

"And don't forget it." She smacked my arm lightly. "Be careful, querida."

Unfortunately, we had reached the limo, and I was forced to open the back door so that Susannah could slide in next to Paul.

She winked at me as she did so, even as Paul wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

I slammed the door shut angrily and resumed my role as driver.

"Where to, sir?"

It hurt, to be so polite to the man who had most probably killed my sister, her best friend and now he was working on stealing away my girlfriend too.

Paul answered with the name of a restaurant and then muttered something indistinguishable to her, making her giggle.

The sound broke my heart.


	10. The Revelation

**A,N - Hey guys, hope you're still with us on this. We're sorry about the delay, but you know, crazy exams and the like. This chapter is pretty monumental anyway. Courtesy of Moondancing Millie (i.e. she wrote it), posted by me.**

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Mysterious Girl

**_The Revelation_**

**Deception (noun) - 1. The act of deceiving or misleading**

"Maria." I struggled to maintain my patience. "That is the latest issue of _Vogue._" Maria closed the magazine and studied the cover, a frown on her face.

"Oh my God," she gasped, tossing it aside. "You're right. But where has _Marie Claire _gone?" I rolled my eyes and nudged the magazine she was searching for under the nearest bookcase, before shrugging.

We were in Paul's library, searching for anything that might lead us to a conclusion. So far, we had nothing. And with a companion like Maria, it wasn't hard to figure out why.

"Maria," I said again, reaching over to dump a large volume in her lap. "We're looking through archives of Slaters in the media. We are not checking for an update as to whether ruffles are 'in' again or not." Maria pouted.

"We have evidence already, right?" she asked, not bothering to open the large book. "You and that Susie girl found that. So why aren't we taking that to Beaumont and O'Neil?"

"Because," I replied through gritted teeth. "It's not enough. It's only enough to confirm Paul Slater as a suspect. It doesn't prove that he is actually murdering these girls." Maria harrumphed indignantly before lifting up the dusty cover. She coughed pathetically.

"What's wrong with _you _today?" she demanded, after she had flicked through a few pages. "You've been in a bad mood all morning. Is it something I said?" I scowled.

"No." Being with Maria made me realise how much I missed working with Susannah. Maria sighed and gave up with the large book; instead she reached across my lap to collect a much slimmer book from the pile I had made several hours ago. As she was strewn across my legs, however, she started to giggle. I raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"There's something vibrating in your pocket," she remarked, settling back against the bookcase and opening the book. "And I really hope it's your phone." I pulled a face; internally scoffing at the fact that Maria had really thought she could have _that _effect on me.

The lit-up screen told me that it was my _madre _calling, and I greeted her warmly. "_Hola_," I said, but on the other end all I could hear was a gentle sobbing and the sound of a nose being blown. "_Madre_?" I asked, concernedly. "Are you alright?"

"Hi, Jess." My sister Mercedes had obviously taken over the phone. "Can you come down to the coroner's office to meet us? As soon as you can?"

"Why?" I enquired, though my trembling fingers were a sign that I already knew the answer.

There was a long pause.

"Well," Mercedes answered, eventually. "They've found a body."

* * *

We sat as a group of eight and waited with baited breath. I sat with a sister on each knee and Maria on my right – though why she had accompanied me was anyone's guess. It was true that she was family – my cousin, of course – but she had been avoiding all familial commitments for years.

There were police officers everywhere, whispering quietly into their walkie-talkies or gossiping avidly with their colleagues. The atmosphere was unbearable as we waited for the body to be prepared by the coroner. The moment loomed closer – the second hand on the clock seemed to be broken, it moved that slowly – the moment when our fears could be realised.

And it would be Marta lying there underneath the sheet.

"Mr. and Mrs. De Silva?" My head, along with the heads of the rest of my family, jerked up when we heard our surname called. My parents motioned for us to remain in our seats, and we did so, watching as our mother and father disappeared through the door.

I dreaded the second they emerged.

They were in the office for a while – the silence that had consumed the room as my parents had risen from their seats was gone, and in its place was a gentle buzzing from the police officers, who had begun to chatter again. I eavesdropped upon their conversation, for want of something to distract me from the agonizing wait.

"Yeah," agreed one officer, deep in conversation with another. "This guy comes into the station down near the bay and tells us he saw two people up on a cliff somewhere." His friend looked intrigued.

"A cliff?" he echoed. "In this weather? Why weren't they down on the beach catching rays or something?"

The first officer shrugged. "This guy says it looked like they were having a lovers' quarrel. They were a guy and a girl – the guy kept trying to hold on to the girl, but she wasn't having any of it. They were getting nearer to the cliff every second, and in the end, this guy says, she just ended up over the edge."

My stomach somersaulted, and bile rose to my mouth.

"Didn't the guy try and stop it?" the second officer asked, incredulously. "I mean, he was watching it all happen but did he try and intervene?"

"Apparently not. All he was good for was a description of the girl."

"And?" the second officer pressed. The two cops turned to look at me, and I adjusted my gaze to the floor immediately.

"Well," the first cop began, sadly. "He said the girl was kinda Hispanic-looking." My heart sank, and my vision began to get blurred. Marta – it had been Marta.

At that moment, my parents emerged from the coroner's office, hand-in-hand. Their devastated expressions told me everything.

My sister was dead.

* * *

"Wait in the car," I growled at Maria, and I slammed the door shut violently. Maria jumped at the sound but remained stationary. I think she knew my temper well enough not to object. I had parked at the end of the driveway, subconsciously hoping that the cool air would cool my hot rage. But it was no use. I was angrier once I had reached the door than I had been as I left the car.

I rapped on the door once, my hands curled into tight fists.

He was going to pay.

Paul answered the door, dressed smartly in a suit that hinted at a designer origin. He smiled smarmily at me as soon as he recognised me, but I didn't give him a chance to say anything. I launched myself at him, knocking him to the floor, and placed my hands in a cup around his neck.

"You killed her!" I cried, and he stared up at me with panicked eyes. "You killed her, are you happy? You have ruined me, and my family."

"Jesse!" Susannah's frightened voice came from behind me. "Jesse, get off him! Whatever he's done, it's not worth it!" I didn't release my hold on him. Instead, I squeezed his throat tighter, and Paul tried to cough.

"You don't understand," I whispered, watching as his eyes grew in fear. "Paul killed my sister. This afternoon – there were witnesses. She was pushed off a cliff… and _he did it_." I punctuated my last three words violently shaking Paul's neck.

"No!" Susannah screamed. "No, Jesse, he couldn't have!"

I scoffed. "_Querida_, however innocent you may think he is, you're wrong."

"No," Susannah disagreed again. "He didn't kill your sister. He's been with me all day." The shock of her words made me release Paul immediately. He pushed me off him and rolled over, clutching his neck and gasping. I remained against the coffee table – where I had been shoved – and stared at the floor wide-eyed in disbelief.

"What?"

"He didn't kill Marta," Susannah confirmed.

"You thought I was a murderer?" Paul asked, incredulously. His voice was hoarse.

I nodded, numbly, incapable of speech. Susannah fell to my side, discretely taking my hand. But I was unable to feel her touch… my whole body felt lifeless.

Paul hadn't killed my sister. He was innocent – the one person I had been convinced was guilty. He hadn't committed the crime – and his disbelieving question could only mean that he hadn't committed the previous murders either.

But, I wondered, as Susannah tried to shake me back to life, who had?


	11. The Investigation

**A.N - We apologise for the lateness of this update. Mostly, it's my fault. But then I thought, ok, maybe I actually should update this now, it turned out that we lost our plan and so we spent days looking it up in our DM's, documents and Chat logs. But here it is - finally. We hope we still have some readers out there. :)**

**And I'd also like to plug in our awards sight - vote for your faves now in the polls. At this present moment in time, we only have 6 unique voters. We kinda need more. Vote, vote, vote!**

**-- Moonie, as I'm so kindly known by Moondancing Millie.**

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Mysterious Girl

_**The Investigation**_

**Honesty (noun) – 1. The quality or condition of being honest; integrity.**

**2. Truthfulness; sincerity.**

"Jesse De Silva," my voice was tired, audibly laced with exhaustion and, judging by the gasps that greeted me when the door was opened, my eyes were red and bloodshot with bags underneath them. I flashed them my I.D card. "I'm part of the investigation to find your daughter's … murderer."

My voice caught on the final word, knowing that it was this man who also caused my sister's fate. The same man caused a great deal of pain to both of our families.

"De Silva?" The woman – Mrs. Peterson – mused to her husband. "Wasn't that name of …?" Her eyes widened as her husband nodded and she turned her grief-filled eyes of understanding back towards me. "I'm sorry for your loss."

I smiled tightly. "I guess I know how you feel." I felt Susannah's arm curl against my elbow, offering her comfort.

"I'm Susannah Simon," she introduced herself. "Do you mind if we investigate your daughters room? We need to see if we can find any clues."

"Of course," they murmured, stepping aside. "Go ahead."

Thanking them, Susannah led me past the grieving couple and up the staircase, glancing in every room until she came to the one that obviously belonged to my sister's best friend. They looked similar. Painted with a light purple coat of glossy paint, pictures of the two of them blu-tacked to the wall as well as the huge posters of one Paul Slater.

Susannah paused, glancing up at the poster thoughtfully. I couldn't help but wonder if she was thinking about him, if she'd rather be with him now and, in spite of the situation I was in, I felt my hand gripping hers tightly. In response, I felt her lips against my cheek.

"It's okay," she whispered. "I was just wondering how we ever thought he could be the murderer. He's not your average choice."

"It's always the person you least suspect."

Susannah shrugged. "You can look through the dressing table, if you want. It may be easier for you, considering you … knew her. You might know what to look for."

"I can't." I told her. "It's still all a bit _raw_." She nodded sympathetically. "But, the dressing table. Both Taylor and Marta sent letters to Paul. Can you see if they received a reply?"

Sitting on the stool in the bedroom, my eyes were drawn to a picture of my sister and her best friend together and smiling on the beach. They looked so carefree, so _young_ and so full of _life_. I felt tears sting my eyes, desperate to be released. I couldn't believe Marta had gone …

"Here." Susannah's soft voice interrupted me as she slid a note along the table towards me. "Look who signed it."

The name 'Paul Slater' was scrawled in a penmanship so similar to Paul's that it could have been his. The only reason I knew that this wasn't Paul's work was the informal interrogation that Paul had been subjected to earlier. He had claimed that he never personally responded to any of his fan mail, that his assistant had done it all on the computer.

There were more then one of these letters, all signed by 'Paul Slater' in the same way as before. All the letters were hand-written but the most recent one held the evidence that I needed. In it was written one simple sentence.

_Meet me there at one o'clock on the morning of the twenty-second_.

But that was also the day that Taylor Peterson had gone missing.

"Whoever wrote this murdered Taylor," I breathed angrily. "I just wish I knew who."

Frustrated, I scrunched up the paper in my hand and glared down at the rumpled ball it now resembled. Then I spotted it – so tiny that I held the small watermark up to the light just to check that it was actually there. Just one word was visible. One word that sealed the fate of the man who killed my sister, Taylor and countless others. He would pay for his crimes.

_Beaumont._

* * *

The check in/identification process seemed to take forever. I'd taken Susannah back to her apartment with a promise that I'd go home, rest and then pick her up again in a few hours to confront Beaumont together. Needless to say, it wasn't going to happen. I didn't want Susannah to see how angry I was sure to get.

"Ah, Jessup!" The man – _murderer_ – greeted me happily. "How can I help?"

"It's _Jesse_." The word escaped from between clenched teeth in a growling noise. Normally, I let this mispronunciation of my name slide but this man killed my sister. "And, as it turns out, Paul isn't the murderer."

The man gave no other reaction than the widening of his eyes. Two bright spots of colour stained his cheeks. "This is an outrage, Jessup." Beaumont insisted. "Don't be ridiculous! Of course Paul is the murderer!"

I could practically feel my eyes glaze with anger. "My name," I insisted, "is _Jesse_. And I'm not being 'ridiculous', as you so eloquently put it." My tone was verging on disrespectful. "Paul Slater has an alibi from a very reliable source for this morning. Do you know what happened this morning, Beaumont?"

Slowly, the man shook his head, fear lining his irises and pinching at the corner of his eyes.

"My sister was found dead." Pausing, I leant my arms forward on the desk, taking deep breaths to calm myself. "And an eye witness claimed to see someone push her off a cliff."

"This someone," Beaumont insisted. "You're sure that it's not Paul?"

"I'm positive." I replied. "He was with Susannah all morning. She wouldn't lie."

Beaumont scoffed. "You'd be surprised, Jessup," the name caused my eyes to narrow, "just how _persuasive_ Paul Slater can be. Your precious Susannah could've been sleeping quite peacefully this morning after a night of –"

"_Don't_ say it. Susannah wouldn't do that. Paul is _not_ the murderer."

"But all the evidence points to him." The words were mumbled so much that I had to strain to hear them.

It was then that I caught sight of the small red packet strewn haphazardly on the man's desk. My anger was uncontrollable.

"Not," I told him. "All of the evidence." I gestured towards the cigarettes on his desk - the same brand Paul Slater smoked and was found on the victims' body's.

Pulling out a pair of handcuffs with one hand as I turned a gun on him with the other, I spoke the words that were sure to infuriate the man opposite me. "Mr. Beaumont, you are under the arrest for the murder of –"

He acted so quickly, knocking the handcuffs to the floor and pushing me off balance before snatching the weapon out of my arms.

"It seems, _Jesse_," my name was sneered in a way that told me he knew my name all along. "That I didn't hide my tracks as well as I thought I had." He pulled back the safety catch and rested his finger against the trigger. "And now I just have one more victim to add to my list."

I froze in fear, defenceless, exhausted and with nowhere to run as the gun was focused on my chest, right above my heart.

"Shame, really," Beaumont continued with an evil sneer. "You were such a promising agent."


	12. The Fight

**A.N - We apologise for the lateness of this update again. That's all we ever seem to say, but it's true, nonetheless.**

**We hope you like this anyway. It was written by the one, the only, Moondancing Millie. xD**

**Yay her! **

* * *

**Mysterious Girl**

_**The Fight**_

**Struggle (noun) – 1. a war, a fight, a contest.**

**2. to advance with violent effort.**

"You shoot," I said, "and you'll be caught. I have back-up already on its way."

A lie, yes. But Beaumont couldn't possibly know that.

A smirk appeared on his lips, and he withdrew the gun, twirling it dangerously between his fingers instead. I flinched, watching it with narrowed eyes. Beaumont exhaled in disbelief as he continued to flip the pistol nonchalantly.

"Oh, De Silva, I'm offended. You honestly think I would buy that?" The gun stopped, mid-spin, and the silence was so audible it sent my heart hammering. I glanced towards the handcuffs lying at my feet and wondered maybe, just maybe I could –

"You're a fool, Jesse," Beaumont continued, and he even stroked his chin, as if he wasn't acting evil-genius enough. "You came into this agency a fool, and you're going to die a fool. I hope you have a few last words." His voice dropped. "It makes it all the more entertaining, or so I've learned." A chill ran up my spine and I saw in more detail now the expert handling of the gun he was gripping. I wasn't the first he'd cornered in a situation like this.

I wondered if Marta had thought of the same things I was thinking of right now: Madre, Padre, all my sisters, especially Josefina…

_Susannah_.

And as soon as the thought of her entered my head, I knew there was no other choice. In a split second I was on the floor, fingers closing clumsily over the metal handcuffs and reaching to pull Beaumont down with me. He tumbled, as I'd anticipated, but a sharp sound attacked my ear-drums simultaneously that I hadn't expected.

BANG.

He'd pulled the trigger as he'd fallen, the bullet narrowly missing me and bouncing off the cold floor beneath me. The gun fell from his hold, spinning across the floor under his desk. I breathed out in relief before reaching to hold him in a headlock.

"Thaddeus Beaumont, you are under arrest-" I snapped one handcuff around his left wrist as he struggled in my grasp. "– for murder." I tightened the grip on his neck and he made a choking sound. "The murder of my sister." I stretched to secure the second handcuff, but instantly he wrenched himself free and threw me onto the floor. I cracked my skull hard on the wood, and shut my eyes through the pain.

"I wouldn't struggle if I were you," he hissed, leaning over me as he released himself of the handcuffs. "There's somebody holding fort outside the door, and if you were to escape and run for the door…" He trailed off suggestively. "Well, let's just say they won't be as merciful as I am feeling."

"Merciful," I echoed, tonelessly, and Beaumont nodded. To my surprise, I saw that he had managed to regain possession of the hand-gun, and had redirected it at my chest. I froze on the floor in fear. I was helpless now, already on the ground. My aching muscles told me Beaumont was far stronger than I was. I couldn't hold him for long, and with a guard outside… I was doomed.

"Don't even think about moving," Beaumont said as he got to his feet. The gun remained aimed at me. "I'll pull the trigger if I have to." I believed him. The bullet lying only feet away from my head was enough proof for me.

"Now let's see, Jesse," he continued, and he started pacing in a circle around my rigid form, the gun lingering over my heart. "I'm still trying to work out why exactly you're here." As if there was any question. "Could it be the…" He placed a hand over his heart mournfully, "…_tragic _death of your sister?" He stepped on my twisted elbow hard, and I heard a sickening crack. A thin sheen of sweat broke out across my forehead as I winced through the agony. "Or could it be…" He grinned, suddenly, as if he knew what he was going to say next would hit home perfectly. "… the fact that the assignment I set you on led you to meet the girl of your dreams, only to drive her into another's arms?" Another crack. He'd dug his heel onto my other arm, and I threw my head back to roar in anguish.

My arms were lifeless now, lying loose on the floor next to my head. I cursed a thousand times over in my head – in Spanish and English – calling Beaumont anything I could think of. But the pain had keeled me over; my brain was becoming foggy. I was running out of ideas.

A loud thud from outside cleared my mind of any thoughts, and instead brought confusion. Even Beaumont raised his eyebrows in bewilderment, and started towards the door. "Don't move," he spat, as if I could move with both my arms broken.

I heard the creak of the door open – the scratch of wood against wood – followed by another thud, and Paul's cursing. He backed away from the door and back into my peripheral vision, clutching his forehead. "Bitch!"

"Jesse?" The voice I heard next made my heart sing. My heart rate – which had been dropping, along with my morale – suddenly sped up to almost triple, and my palms became sweaty. Which was, of course, always the effect Susannah had on me. I yelped from my current position.

"Susannah! Down here!"

Two sets of hurried footsteps became louder, and I wondered who could be with her. My heart sank. _Paul?_

"Not so fast," Beaumont growled, and I saw him raise the gun and shoot before I could warn anybody. The shot brought silence, and I feared the worst. Both sets of footsteps had stopped completely, and nobody spoke, not even Beaumont. I held my breath.

And then, to my right, was Susannah on her knees, reaching eagerly for my hand. "Jesse," she whispered, and she kissed my palm. "Jesse, thank God you're O.K."

To my surprise, the voice I spoke in next was feeble. "How did you know I needed you?" Another figure appeared on my left, grinning.

"The powers of female deduction," Maria answered, before she glanced at me worriedly. "Wow, Jesse. You don't look too good."

"Who got shot?" I demanded, anxiously, and both girls rolled their eyes.

"Nobody," Maria said. "Beaumont's got exceedingly bad aim. Remind me why you work for him again?"

"Maria," Susannah reminded her urgently. "Can we talk about this later?" Maria pulled a face guiltily. "Jesse, can you walk?" I nodded.

Beaumont pulled the trigger again, and all three of us winced, before Maria got to her feet and, turning on the spot, dealt him a kick to the gut that threw him to the floor, groaning. She pulled a gun out of her own and held it to Beaumont's head.

"Go on, guys," she said to us, and Susannah supported me so that I could get to my feet. "I've got this guy." Susannah and I hurried through the door, where I saw the 'guard' slumped against the wall, unconscious. My eyes widened.

"What did you _do _to him?" I asked. Susannah laughed, not completely successful in hiding all the wickedness in her tone.

"The police are on their way," she answered instead. Her finger grazed an open wound across my forehead tenderly, her expression full of concern. "I'm so sorry I didn't come sooner. In fact, I should have come with you from the start. This is all my fault..."

"Ssh," I whispered, and I longed to stroke her cheek with the hand that instead hung dead at my side. "Susannah, this is not your fault _at all_. I wouldn't have had you hurt..." I blushed. "I love you, Susannah."

She smiled - showing all of her teeth, the way that made her look the most beautiful - and cupped my face with her hands. "I love you too, Jesse," she said, and she kissed me.

As she kissed me, I wasn't sure if the blue lights I saw behind my eyelids were the lights of the police cars, or just the fireworks I saw everytime I was with Susannah. But I didn't need an answer. I had my girl with me, there and then, and now we were finally - finally - free to be together.


	13. Epilogue: The Happily Ever After

**A.N - Er, hi, remember this? Last updated about ten months ago?**

**I'm totally taking all the blame here - not all of it, of course. Hectic school year can be blamed partly. But it's absolutely not Millie's fault. Anyway, I appreciate that you may not be able to remember the actual plot but, seeing as this is the epilogue, most points should be covered. But, if you wanted to re-read it, feel free. :D**

**Hope you're all still with us here. We promise, no more tag teams for a while. We always seem to take forever on them. :/**

**-- Moonlight Silhouette**

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**Mysterious Girl**

_**Epilogue: The Happily Ever After**_

**Ending – noun – 1. A bringing or coming to an end.  
****2. The final or concluding part.  
****3. Death.**

_One Year Later_

"Te amo, Marta," I spoke to my sister's grave in Spanish. She'd always loved the language, more so then any of the rest of us, and it felt more private this way. It felt like a secret conversation between my sister and me, like when we were younger and my other sisters were too young to understand what we were saying. "Ahora, y por siempre."

Straightening slowly, I blinked back tears as I looked down at where my sister lay. I was probably being selfish, feeling as I did of the unjustness of having my sister cruelly taken away from me when I did, and not remembering the other families who have suffered as my own has.

The Petersons, for example.

After his arrest, Beaumont had been interrogated profusely until he gave up the exact locations of the four other girls he'd kidnapped and murdered. Taylor's body had been recovered and given to her parents: The absolute worst kind of gift imaginable.

"Jesse." Susannah's musical voice chimed in my ear as she curled her left hand around my arm, sensing when I needed her in that special way of hers. "Your mom wants us back at the house, remember? Come on, it's time to leave."

Silently, I glanced down at the slender, feminine hand that belonged to my _querida_. Her ring finger bore two pieces: a simple, plain gold wedding band and, above that, the silver diamond ring I'd used to propose to her with. We hadn't been married long – only two months now.

"Jesse?" She asked again.

I placed my hand on top of hers, noting my own wedding band glinting in the sunlight blazing overhead. "Okay, querida. Let's go."

We left the cemetery hand in hand and walked the short distance back to my childhood home in silence, as I didn't know what to say and Susannah knew not to push. She was perfect for me and she always reminded me of it.

Every time I see a picture of Paul Slater, or hear his name over the radio and in the news, I mentally retreat to the wealth of images I had built up of the two of them together, courtesy of the Paul Slater Case.

And every time my grip tightens on Susannah – no matter how imperceptible – as a reflex, she'll roll her eyes and stretch on her toes to whisper into my ear, "Without that case, Jesse, we'd never have met."

For that much, at least, I felt a vague sense of gratitude to the man, though I still resented him for having kissed her and thrown their dates in my face.

At least the rings on her finger proclaimed to the world now that Susannah was my wife, my girl. It was quick, yes, our marriage, but that was in part due to my newfound realisation that someone you love can be taken away from you before you're ready. I didn't want to waste a moment with Susannah.

"Oh good," mi madre greeted us as we let ourselves in the house. "You guys made it in time." Her smile was wide, but forced, and the glimmers of unshed tears danced in her eyes.

"You know we can't resist your wonderful cooking, _abuela_." Susannah's teasing was well placed; it had my mother brightening instantly.

"Of course, of course," she flustered. "Come in, sit down." My mother turned a hard glare on me. "How dare you make her walk so far in her condition?"

"It wasn't far, mama," I rolled my eyes. "Susannah is still perfectly capable of walking, at the moment."

And it was true. You could hardly see the slight rounding of her stomach yet.

"Jesse," Susannah's voice took on the pleading quality it did only when she wanted something. I glanced over and, sure enough, her emerald eyes were wide and innocent, gazing in my direction.

"Yes, querida?" I asked.

"Can you get me some food?" I arched an eyebrow at her. "Please? Your baby is hungry."

I felt a smile take over my mouth. She could always get me with that one. Well, for the next six or seven months, at least. Nodding, I walked towards the kitchen and heard the click of the television being turned on and the newsreader announce the latest headlines. Something about a man in his mid-twenties being found murdered late last night. The police had no leads at this moment.

"Hey, Jesse," she nudged me. "That could be our next undercover op. We could crack that case in no time."

"No." I handed Susannah the plate that I'd made up of her favourite foods and settled in beside her on the sofa, my arm curling around her waist to rest on her stomach. "No way. You're not going on any more missions. It's too dangerous."

"Jesse," she told me calmly. "It's my _job_."

"Maybe," I replied in the same tone of voice. "But that's _my baby_."

Susannah 'hmpf-ed' but I knew she'd relented her point, the sly smile she was trying to hid kept creeping over her expression. "You only care about your baby?" She questioned. "What about me?" Her lower lip jutted out in a pout.

Many a time have I given in to that delicious pout.

"You know I care about you too, Susannah." I whispered. "I love you."

She smiled. "And don't you forget it."

Chuckling, I settled down, watching the news in blissful silence until Paul Slater's face flashed on the screen, at which point I felt the old insecurities crawl over me again.

"Jesse," Susannah kissed me quickly. "I love you. I'm wearing your ring. I'm your wife and I'm carrying your child. So, I kissed him a few times for my job – and felt absolutely nothing, by the way. It was ages ago. Get over it."

"I suppose you have a point."

Susannah nodded and turned up the volume so we could hear what was being said.

"_Paul Slater makes his big-screen comeback this weekend, following some time out following the false allegations of murder he was accused of one year ago." _Susannah's guilty expression matched my own, I was certain. _"These claims have since been disbanded after the real murderer was arrested and jailed for life five times over – one life sentence for every girl he murdered. Paul Slater showed up to the premiere of his new movie last week on the arm of an unidentified young blonde. Rumours have it; the couple have been seeing each other for a few months now. Do you hear wedding bells?"_

"Are you happy now?" Susannah teased. "He's off the market anyway." She frowned. "There goes my plans to marry him, divorce him, steal half his money and set up our children with the best possible chances anyone can give."

This was a test, I could feel it. I'll prove to Susannah, finally, that I no longer view Paul Slater as a threat to our relationship.

"Children?" I arched my eyebrow. "As in, you want more then just this one?"

"Of course," was her response. "Don't you?"

"Yes," I stated seriously. "I was just checking. I love you, Mrs. De Silva."

"_Gracías, Jesse!" _I groaned at my mother's input, my cheeks burning with embarrassment even as Susannah failed to hide her giggles in my shoulder. _"I love you too."_ She paused. _"And you, Susannah."_

"Mama!"

Susannah was laughing outright now, one hand clutching her stomach as the other rose to brush away tears. She waited until she'd sobered up before she said her next words. "I love you, Jesse. That Paul Slater case was the best thing to happen to me – I met you."

"I love you, too." I murmured against her lips before capturing them, and kissing my wife thoroughly. "Good things happen when my cousin gets hit by a car."

I knew that if Maria had heard that, I'd have found myself whacked across the head with a magazine, but as she wasn't here the only response I received was Susannah's giggles and I caught her lips once again with my own.

There was a time when I once questioned whether I'd be true to my job or my heart, Susannah.

Now, there was no question. I'd give up my job in a heartbeat – give up the title of 'the best in the business' – if it meant that I'd have Susannah exactly where I now had her:

In my arms, kissing her, as my wife.


End file.
